


Frostbite

by CozyCryptidCorner



Series: Pride Month Prompts [4]
Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Exophilia, F/F, Snow Woman, Yuki Onna, Yôkai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: The only reason you aren't dead is because a creature of the ice has taken pity on your plight.You hope that she won't change her mind.***If you are reading this on any third party apps (such as unofficialao3), or on any platform besides AO3, Tumblr, and Wattpad, then you are reading stolen work. I do not give consent for my stories to be published or pulled elsewhere.***





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is another entry for my Pride Month Prompts! If you would like to submit a prompt, [go to my tumblr page.](https://cozycryptidcorner.tumblr.com/post/185643103389/happy-pride-month)

The water is so cold that it burns, the shock nearly knocking out whatever air is left in your lungs. All the muscles in your body seize, pinpricks turning to dagger stabs as you pray,  _pray,_  to lose the feeling in your arms and legs, so you don’t have to experience the brunt of it all. You don’t bother trying to open your eyes, terrified you might lose all sight should they become exposed to the water, and try blindly swimming in an upward motion. You’re barely even moving, your teeth desperate to chatter but mouth determined to keep out the water. A limp flapping is the most locomotion your body can muster with the pain it is in. 

 

Then you hit ice.

 

Panic sweeps through your body, but you desperately bang at the surface again, finding only a slight bit of give, nothing near enough to break it. Blindly, you do it again. And again. Needles of pain pierce beneath your skin, you thought the cold couldn’t get any worse, but it somehow does, and this the point where you believe that drowning under a layer of ice will be how you die.

 

Something cracks, loud enough for you to hear over the undercurrent of the river, and a hand grabs for the fluffy scruff of your jacket. The furry collar squeezes against your neck as whoever has you  _pulls,_  a rush of freezing water pinching at your face, and then air, glorious air. You gasp and sputter, chest trembling as it tries filling itself with all the oxygen it missed, eyes blinking rapidly in the hopes of clearing out your vision. All you can see is a pale, grayish blob, nothing more, and you can’t even pause your chattering teeth long enough to ask who rescued you.

 

Next thing you know, you’re laying down on your side, a soft kind of material up against your cheek, a blurry landscape passing by at a brisk walking pace. The sounds of the river fade slowly as whoever drags you on the sled retreats deep into the forest. While that may be concerning to someone else, you are almost too frozen to care who this person is and what their intentions are, though there is a small bit of nervousness churning in your stomach. You hadn’t seen anyone while you were foolishly trying to fish up on the ice, and this mysterious savior has not uttered a single word to try and calm your nerves.

 

Your eyes still burn from the freezing water, so you shut them tight in the hopes that it would ease the pain. As you do so, the movement stops. Hands thread around your chest, underneath your arms, and you are pulled from the sled, your feet dragging through the snow. Up a low set of stairs, you go, your legs and ankles hitting the edges of the steps uncomfortably, then everything goes dark as you must have entered a house. Still fighting for consciousness, knowing that sleep could easily mean death, you try desperately to focus on the sounds the person makes as they leave you on the floor to accomplish something without the hindrance of your weight.

 

Steps walk from one end of the cabin to the other, a rummaging sound and wood on wood making you curious enough to crack open a single eye, desperately squinting to see if hatchets or machetes are about to become involved. Instead of getting gutted like the fish you’ve cleaned so many times before, there’s a strike of metal against stone, then a gentle crackle. Fire. Warmth. You’re dragged once more, towards the source of the heat, and you might have started crying, but your tear ducts must have frozen in the water.

 

They lay you against blankets, the softness just barely disguising the cold, hard floor, and warmth runs over you just as fast as the river flowed. It’s not nearly enough, though. Hands still shaking like the last leaf in a blizzard, you try finding the latch of your thick, winter coat, the front of which is caked with ice and frost. Another set of fingers, long and thin, help peal the stiff, frozen material off from your soaking clothes. Layer by layer, your rescuer pulls everything away, your eyesight coming back only slightly with the added heat. All you can see at this point is how white and porcelain their skin seems in comparison to yours, which is bright red and dangerously gray in some areas.

 

There’s a swath of black hair piled up on your rescuer’s head, most likely a hastily pinned bun, but other than the course material of tan cloth, you can’t tell anything more about their appearance. Something long and soft comes around your shoulders, the furs of an animal, probably, and you are laid back down, head falling gently on a pillow. God… you feel so good, and even though you know it’s a bad idea to sleep when you are just barely healing from hypothermia, not to mention that you’re in a random stranger’s house, your eyes shut tight and your body relaxes.

 

You don’t know how long you’ve slept, there’s no way for you to know for sure, but when you wake back up, sunlight streams in from the  _ramnas._  Though your back creaks like you haven’t moved for centuries, you manage to sit up, blinking rapidly, and take a single look around with much better vision than what you went to sleep with last night. The fire is nothing more than embers at this point, but the warmth that still flows from the pale ashes and the thick furs around your shoulders keeps any hint of cold from hitting your skin. You let out a little sigh of relief as you notice the clothes you were wearing are out, flat, surrounding the firepit to dry.

 

Standing hurts, your muscles tight, with something pinched and hot in one of your shoulders, but you manage to reach up and collect anything that is currently dry. Your coat is still damp, the thick material having been completely soaked through, and will probably not be dry enough to wear for another day. One of your skirt layers still feels cold to the touch, and you’re pretty sure your shoes would soak your socks if you dared try them on. Mouth pursed, you start dressing in what can be worn as quickly as you can before retreating back under the warmth of the fur.

 

A sound comes from the side, a sliding door moving to the side, as a small, thin woman takes a step into the room. Her hair is long, black, piled up on her head in an uncaring style that is more about keeping the strands out of her face than actual fashion, her skin paler than any person you have ever seen before. She takes a step forward, almost as if towards you, then changes directions as if an afterthought, moving towards a wall lined with different pots, dishes, and utensils. After only a moment of debate, she reaches up for one of the ceramic kettles, a blue one, and moves to the well pump and fills it with water.

 

You sit, cross-legged, as she sets up a cooking grill she must have taken off for your benefit over the fire pit, and sets the full pot over it. As she measures out herbs for tea, you blurt out, “I never thanked you.”

 

She looks up, her eyes a cool, but piercing grey.

 

“When you saved me. Thank you for pulling me out of the ice.”

 

 All that she offers to you a brief nod in response.

 

You wait for just a beat, watching her smooth, precise movements as she gently organizes the cups on the tray she got out as if she isn’t satisfied with how close together they are. Reaching over, not to touch anything, just as an offer, you try to ask, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

 

Her pale, almost blue-tipped fingers accidentally brush against yours, her breath inhaling sharply at the contact, almost too quietly for you to hear. Those grey eyes looking up again as she shakes her head slowly, pulling her hand back like she was shocked. 

 

While the tea begins to steep, you both watch the color of the water change, as though it is the most fascinating thing in the world. While you have a feeling that she might not be the most talkative person, you try giving her your name, just as a gesture of good faith.

 

After a moment of silence, during which you are positive she must hate you now for talking too much, she repeats your name back, her voice soft and sweet.

 

“Yes,” you try not to sound too eager. “Do you have something I can call you?”

 

After a moment of pondering, she says, “I was called Sora.”

 

“Sora.” You run the name over your tongue, trying to hit the  _r_  as hard as she did. “That’s a beautiful name.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Youtuber voice* If you liked what you read, smash that kudos button! Want to tell me how much you liked this fic? Leave me a comment! Want to keep tabs on my writings? Subscribe and you get a free (yes, FREE) email every time I publish a fic! Want me to write more? Shower me with praise because positive reinforcement motivates me to work!


End file.
